The pine trees trembled beneath a breeze that carried smoke and silence. Somewhere in the north end of the forest, he sat alone—scratching at the thick beard he'd grown to adore.
Each strand a reminder of the lies he'd lived. The illusion creation had served him well.
The boyish face he'd worn for months—blond hair, bright skin, soft-spoken charm—had been just another tool. But now?
Now, the wolf would shed his skin.
Garrick let the last flickers of the illusion fade, his real features settling into place: graying hair, a face chiseled by years of hate, and eyes that gleamed with the fire of vengeance.
He flexed his fingers. The craving to spill blood itched under his skin.
He muttered under his breath, voice gravel and rage. "For the family you took away from me . For the shame you painted on my name. I'll return the favor, Witch Queen,Zayne!"
Just as he rose, boots silent against the forest floor, three witches emerged from the thicket, whispering among themselves. They hadn't seen him yet.
"I say we team up," one whispered, tightening her grip on a damage potion. "We'll take out the others first—then we settle it between us."
"Deal," said the second. "But if we spot Lunara or Menma, we back off and regroup."
The third nodded, but her eyes froze mid-glance. She had seen him.
"Wait… that's not—" she started, recognition flashing in her gaze.
Garrick smiled. A slow, toothy grin.
The witches spun on their heels and bolted toward the heart of the forest. One shouted, "It's him! It's—"
But they never got the chance to finish.
Garrick raised a hand, weaving an illusion across the trees ahead of them—an open path where trees should have stood.
The witches raced forward, thinking they had a clear escape route—until solid wood slammed into their faces. One by one, they crashed, crumpling into the forest floor.
All three went still.
A golden pulse of light wrapped their unconscious bodies—Annie's Light Creation—teleporting them out of the arena and back to the village.
Garrick tilted his head and laughed quietly to himself. "Three down. The rest will follow."
Elsewhere, Lunara had just come across Saphyra. Their eyes locked. Friends? Yes. Sisters in arms? Always. But this wasn't a time for mercy.
"This is still a tournament," Saphyra said, downing two strength potions in one gulp, followed by a speed and two endurance potions.
She wiped her mouth and cracked her knuckles. "I've been saving these. Just for you… or Menma."
Lunara raised an eyebrow, half-smirking. "Why us?"
"You two are the only ones stronger than me."
That got a laugh from Lunara. "At least you're honest."
Saphyra charged first, her speed enhanced beyond normal limits. She went for a haymaker, but Lunara reacted instantly, using her Steel Creation to coat her arms. The blow met steel instead of flesh.
Saphyra darted into the surrounding forest, trying to vanish into the trees and land a surprise attack.
Lunara chased her, weaving through branches—but then—
Thunk!
Two heavy logs fell from the canopy, aimed straight for her head.
Lunara gritted her teeth and crossed her steel-coated arms, catching both logs mid-air and crushing them like kindling. When the dust settled, Saphyra was nowhere to be seen.
Tired of playing games, Lunara clenched her fist and slammed it into the ground. A shockwave rippled outward, collapsing the surrounding trees.
That did the trick.
Saphyra had been hiding behind the furthest tree, but now, she was exposed.
Lunara lunged and delivered a clean punch to her friend's face—but Saphyra had chugged two endurance potions.
Her body absorbed most of the blow. She countered with a strike of her own, and the two warriors began trading punches like siblings sparring after a long grudge.
Each attack was met with another. Blood sprayed. Laughter cracked between groans of pain.
Then Lunara shifted her tactics—coating her foot in steel and slamming it downward. Saphyra blocked it with both hands, but Lunara's force drove her to one knee.
Thinking fast, Saphyra grabbed Lunara's leg, spun her, and hurled her into a nearby tree. But Lunara had already coated her full body. She landed with a heavy thud and stood back up without a scratch.
Saphyra's hand slapped a hidden trap on the ground. A volley of poisonous needles burst out from the undergrowth, shooting straight at Lunara.
Lunara deflected them with her steel arm, then burst forward—legs coated this time.
Saphyra tried one last time to defend herself, but the blow landed square against her guard. The force was too much. She collapsed, eyes fluttering shut.
Golden light whisked her away.
Lunara exhaled, wiping her brow. "Sorry, Saph."
At the back end of the forest, Menma sat beneath a tree, one leg stretched out, eyes closed. His teleportation sword rested against the bark beside him. He looked asleep—but he was far from it.
In his mind echoed Zayne's voice, from their training during those long ten months:
"The demon wants chaos. So give it none. Stay calm until the last moment. Then unleash it. And return."
It was the best way to control the power within. Keep it buried until he needed it. Use it, then let it go.
Two witches crept nearby, whispering.
"Maybe he fought Lunara already," one muttered.
"Then he must be tired. Let's end him before he gets his energy back."
But Menma had heard every word.
As they lunged from the bushes, he grabbed his sword in one clean motion and blocked both strikes in a spinning parry. Blades clanged. Sparks flew.
He slashed once—just enough to graze.
Blood welled from the cut, and one witch's eyes widened in horror. She fainted immediately.
The second tried to run, but Menma was faster. He overtook her, delivering a clean strike across the back of her head—just enough to knock her out.
Both witches vanished in gold light.
Menma exhaled deeply and returned to his relaxed position. Calm. Still. Focused.
In another corner of the forest, Sylvara faced what looked like Saphyra.
(Except… Saphyra had already been eliminated!But she didn't know that.)
Fueled by five speed potions and three strength potions stolen from earlier battles, she attacked in a blur, throwing out punches, kicks, and spinning jabs. But none of her blows seemed to connect.
Illusions.
She was tiring fast, panting, sweating, confused. Her body screamed for oxygen. She drank a stamina potion on the fly, feeling her energy pulse back to life.
The fake Saphyra vanished from view again.
Sylvara darted after the illusion, convinced she could still win. She finally landed a punch—a massive blow to the face—but "Saphyra" didn't stumble.
Instead, she grinned. "Fine. Let's end this."
She caught Sylvara's foot mid-strike and tried to land a finishing kick to the head, but Sylvara ducked, just in time.
The illusion spun again, going for her ribs, but Sylvara rolled free and jumped back several meters. She blinked, thoughts racing.
That strength… she might be as strong as Lunara or Menma. Maybe stronger.
But then—agony.
Pain lanced through her neck. She reached back, gasping. Garrick had reappeared behind her, sword raised, the illusion vanishing in a blink.
He'd tried to behead her.
But Annie's Creation—her teleportation—triggered just in time. Before the blade could cut all the way through, Sylvara's body vanished in a pulse of light.
Only three contestants remained now.
Menma.
Lunara.
And Garrick.
Menma still sat beneath his tree, completely still. But he opened one eye.
"You're late," he said calmly.
Lunara stepped out from the treeline, brushing leaves from her arm. "Had some warmups."
Menma rose, drawing his sword.
Lunara's arms shimmered as steel coated one into a blade, the other into a shield-like gauntlet.
They smiled.
And charged.